My 2P Is Dangerous
by icepops25
Summary: This is a chapter series mainly surrounding the FACE family (France, America, Canada, and England). After a spell goes awry, England starts to go a little... Insane. Warning: Some FrUk
1. Chapter 1

Unlike the rest of the world filled with modern technology and design, the old British country holds one medieval room in his basement that is centuries old. The other nations already know about this dungeon and how England likes to perform weird spells and play with his "magical friends". But really, they just don't seem to care. The worst thing to come out of that basement was Busby's Chair, and Russia broke that multiple times. England wasn't a bad country, at least not anymore. Yes, he like many other countries did some pretty bad stuff in their history; England was better now.

England sat on his knees on the stone floor. A round decorated symbol etched onto the floor. Bowls of minerals laid in the middle, and fat candles sat around the design. England held his spell book in his hand, making sure he had everything perfect. The other nations have been making fun of his cooking for too long. Hopefully this will make them realize how good of a cook he really is. He stood up and started the incantation, "Scones panem, lac, et farinam. Dic ad eos, socii mei, non im acidum-"

Arthur flinches in between his words, a small paper cut forms on his finger. He doesn't realize it, but droplets of blood fall into the circle. Not having time to clean his small wound, he continues, "Magnus meus cibus est ut credant!"

A dark black smoke fills the room. Gusts of cold wind move through the walls. The candles burn out leaving the nation in complete darkness. A warm red streak of light whirls out from the mark on the floor and slithers down England's throat, making him fall onto the floor. Then the candles light back up again.

"There," he says standing back up, "Now nobody will make fun of my cooking. I just hope I did it correctly. These spells are so complicated sometimes."

He puts away all the candles, and covers the mark on the floor with a carpet; he may just use it in the future. He takes the bowl outside and throws it in his garden. He's learned that even if a spell might not work, they always make good compost.

The British country makes some tea and sits at the dining room table. The summer heat rolls through from the windows, making it a pleasant evening to spend with some tea and listen to the BBC radio. But he forgot.

Dropping his teacup onto the floor he runs to the calendar on the wall. Just what he thought. July was coming right around the corner. And he will be forced to revisit his memories once again.

...

"Happy Birthday!"

The two North American countries blew out the candles, America and Canada pushing eachother so they can blow out more.

"Take it easy, you'll burn someone." England grunted. He always hated the beginning of July. He loved his children, but ever since they became independent, he felt thrown out. But every year France makes sure to drag him along to celebrate the nation's birthdays.

France began pulling out the dead candles and started to cut the cake. The four countries decided to spend the celebration in one of America's houses this year. They sat out in his back porch, fireworks already out for that night.

"Can we open presents now," the nation's whined.

France chuckled and brought the gifts out from the house one by one, "You two act just like when you were children sometimes."

Canada opened his gifts first, since he had more (Cuba refused to give America a present). The two nations got clothes, food, video games, and they both got signed pictures of Prussia...

But no present from England.

"Arthur! How could you have forgotten?!" The Frenchman cursed out.

"Oh I got them gifts, it's just that I'm waiting for them to be ready."

Suddenly a timer rang inside the house. England hopped off his chair and gleefully waltzed inside.

"Did you use my kitchen?!"

The Family ran inside. They knew if they didn't try England's food he will be in an even worse mood than he already is. But when they walked in, it smelled delicious. England pulled out bright red and blue cupcakes and set them on the counter, "I knew there wouldn't be enough cake for everyone. Especially for America. So I decided to make some cupcakes."

The three nations stared at eachother. They could've sworn England's hair turned a light shade of orange for a moment.

"Ok," France announced, "I have lived a long life. I'll try the first bite." And before England could snap back at him, France bit a piece off one of the small blue cupcakes and dropped the food back onto the plate.

"What's wrong?" Canada asked nervously.

France shook his head and a large grin appeared on his face. Small tears rolled down his cheeks.

"It's perfect! Angleterre made something good for once!"

By this time, England had marched across the room getting ready to hit France over the head with a rolling pin. Stopping abruptly behind the frenchman's chair.

"Wait... Really? It's good?!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Francis!"

The Englishman had just walked through the front door to France's house and is immediately met with two brunette women. They were sitting on either side of their host, rubbing his chest and wearing awfully tight clothes.

"Angleterre! I didn't know you would be here so early," Francis sputtered out his words, getting off the couch and walking towards England, "Let me introduce you to sisters Sara, and Jess."

The one named Sara stood up and followed France to meet England at the door. Her breasts nearly falling out of her shirt (if you can even call it a shirt). Jess soon followed. She covered her chest more, but the bottom half was even more bare than her sister.

"France, I came by to visit you. Not your... Friends."

The sisters giggled at this and grabbed their shoes. France kissed both of them on the hands goodbye and watched them as they walked down the road to get a taxi.

England shut the door and put his coat and hat on the rack. France plopped back onto the couch and started buttoning his shirt back.

"So how have you been since the party," France asked.

England cringed at the words and sat down next to his old friend.

"It's the same, really. A few government issues here and there. Nothing much."

France scooted closer, draping his arm around England, "Would it be rude to ask if you could make some more cupcakes?" The British man nearly fell off the couch at this.

"You're only saying that to make me feel good."

"No! No! They were the best things you ever made. I have some materials for you to use in the kitchen."

England started to feel a warmth glow inside him. A wide grin sat on his face.

"Why, of course I would! I am a gentleman after-all." Arthur skipped into the kitchen, leaving France alone to wait. France was excited to try more cupcakes. It was probably the first food England has ever made for France that didn't almost kill him. But something was eerie about it.

Of course people get excited when they finished a piece of artwork or if a child learns to ride a bike without training wheels. But England has a sort of psycho way about baking, as it seems to France.

France stands at the archway watching his neighbor bake. Jumping across the room with a pink apron, and a smile not fading away. Then he sits down and watches the oven as the cupcakes slowly start to heat up and bake. France sits on the floor next to him.

They stay like this in silence for a while. France looks down and sees a butcher knife sticking out of Arthur's apron pocket.

"Mon ami, I don't think you need a giant knife like that for making cupcakes."

The Englishman turns his head to face France. The smile still not fading. His face looking pale, small freckles appearing on his nose. Orange locks of hair falling over his eyes.

"Oh," England chuckles, "Some dishes just need to make a sacrifice. Of course I had to use some of my own blood to decorate the cupcakes. But yours will do just fine!"

England pounces on France, pinning him to the ground. France jerking away, leaping out of England's arms. But England already has the knife to France's cheek. It slides smoothly on his fair skin. A small stream of blood falls onto France's white shirt. The smile never fading.

"England!" France kicks him onto his side, "What are you doing?!"

England jerks back up into a sitting position. The freckles and longer orange hair goes away. He looks down at the knife in his hands. The silver blade shines with crimson blood. France jumps up and stands behind the island counter; separating the two.

"Francis, I'm so sorry I don't know what happened!"

England shakily gets up and walks over to Francis, dropping the knife on the floor. The two stare at eachother across the counter. Both shaking and trying to process what just happened.

"I'm so sorry. Something just came over me." England hands his wounded friend a small rag and France walks into the bathroom to wash up.

"It wasn't deep." The Frenchman said walking back to the kitchen, a large bandage sticking on his face.

"Im sor-"

"You've done worse. Don't worry about it. I forgive you."

A silence filled the room...

"I wanted to," England said failing to hide the fear in his voice, "kill you. But not like a war or annoying fights. I actually wanted to watch you suffer... For fun."

He falls onto his knees, his head in his hands. The two countries have been on and off enemies a lot throughout history. But England didn't have a reason to fight this time.

France sits in front of his old friend and pulls him into a hug, "Have you been messing with your silly magic again?"

"How did you know?"

"You've never been able to cook so well before." He chuckled.

They walked into the guest bedroom and England took a long nap to try and calm down. He asked France to not tell anyone. And that he will solve this problem.

"Don't worry Angleterre. I promise I won't tell anyone."


	3. Chapter 3

"Darkness falls across the land

The midnight hour is close at hand

Creatures crawl in search of blood

To terrorize your neighborhood

And whosoever shall be found

Without the soul for getting down

Must stand and face the hounds of hell

And rot inside a corpse's shell

The foulest stench is in the air

The funk of forty thousand years

And grisly ghouls from every tomb

Are closing in to seal your doom

And though you fight to stay alive

Your body starts to shiver

For no mere mortal can resist

The evil of the thriller"

England walks into the house and is blown away but the intense music playing in his ears. Canada stumbles out a closet nearby and trips over the toilet paper wrapped around him.

"Grrrr?" Canada stands back up, "Al, I don't think this is working."

"Happy Halloween, Mathew." Arthur smiles.

America turns off the music and walks down the stairs to meet the two. Fake blood and prosthetics sticking all over his body. A plastic chainsaw in his hand.

"I thought I would've got you this year, man. I got Michael Jackson in and everything."

England takes off his coat and hangs it up in the closet, with small pieces of toilet paper on the floor that fell off of Canada.

"Where's your scare tactic?" Canada asks as he fumbles with the toilet paper around his head.

"Oh you'll find out."

The North American brothers shiver and walk into the living room to watch some horror movies. England follows after them. The two brothers take off their costumes and plop on the couch. America sits next to Canada and whispers in his ear to beware of any scare tactics that England will attempt.

"That movie was terrible. America you're movies are just too weird sometimes." England says eating popcorn after watching a zombie movie. He and Canada even laughed at some parts because of how cheesy it was. While America was huddled in the corner of the room with a blanket over his head.

"Hehe, that wasn't so scary." America lies, getting out of his corner. "I'm going to the bathroom I'll be right back."

England and Canada sit in the living room patiently playing with some of the halloween decorations that America has used over and over again for years.

"What is taking that wanker so long?"

"He might still be crying from the ending of the movie. It was very bloody."

England stands up and walks towards the hallway, "I'm going to check on him."

Arthur walks up the stairs and falls halfway up, his hand reaching to clutch his head. A sharp pain dug into the back of his head. He felt this before. When he attacked France, but this time it's stronger. The Englishman struggled to crawl up the steps, sweat beading down his forehead. His eye sight suddenly began to strengthen, and his movements became faster. Orange hair took place of his blonde. America was upstairs. It would be so easy to get to him when he's all defenseless in the bathroom.

The British man walked up to the second floor and down the hallway. He could hear America talking to himself in the mirror.

"Ok Alfred, you are an American. You are army strong. You are the face of freedom. Nothing can get in your way. Not even creepy zombie hordes ready to attack everything you love!"

England pushes the bathroom door open and pokes his head inside.

"AAAAHHHH!" America falls back into the bath tub and begins to laugh, "Iggy, is that all you can come up with? Just 'cuz you'r dressed as a ginger doesn't mean you're a witch. This is the 21st century, dude."

England laughs and jumps on Alfred's lap before he can get up, wrapping his slender fingers around the American's neck.

"Did I ever tell you how cute you were when you were a child?" England asks with a squeaky voice, "All under my control. But then you left."

England squeezes harder making America struggle for air, his hands trying to pull off England's.

"You couldn't just stay with me could you. Do you know how hard I suffered because of you?!"

WHACK!

Canada stands behind the unconscious Arthur, a baseball bat in his hands. America breathes in deep breathes of air, his hand on his chest. England lays on the ground, back to normal.

"Al, are you alright?" Canada helps his brother up.

"Yea," America croaks, "Call France."

The North American countries carry Arthur to the kitchen and tie him to one of the dining chairs. America holds an ice pack to his neck. They wait for France's arrival to talk it out.


	4. Chapter 4

The front door slams and France runs into the kitchen. England had turned back to normal and was beginning to regain his consciousness. America stood against the back wall and looked down at his feet. Canada sat on the floor next to America.

"England, wake up!" France took the faucet hose from the sink and sprayed it on the British man's face. Arthur jumped at the cold water and realized he was tied up to a chair. After struggling for a bit, he decided that the ropes were too tight for him to get out" of. And sat patiently looking at the table. Gold locks of hair soaked and dripping water onto his face. The silence in the room seemed to linger for a long time before England talked.

"It happened again didn't it?"

America and Canada looked at eachother suspiciously, "Again?"

France pulled up a chair and sat next to his European neighbor.

"Tell them."

Arthur looked up to the North American countries who walked into his view. Confusion and fear filling their faces.

"I tried to perform a spell to make people believe whatever I made for them was good. It worked on making my baking skills better, but I messed up on the spell and its gone horribly wrong. I keep having these scary episodes where I'm turning into this... This monster. I keep getting the urge to kill. I want to hurt those who I love. I can't control it. I would never want to kill any of you. I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me?"

*SMACK*

America whipped a hand on Arthur's cheek.

"Have you not thought about fixing this? You could've killed one of us!"

Canada pulled America back before he could slap England anymore. France took the ties off England and let him stand up.

"Come on, I'll take you back home. But you do have to find a way to take back this stupid spell."

Arthur aggressively pushed the dining chair into the table, "You think I haven't tried fixing this?! I don't know how!"

He grabbed his coat out of the closet and stormed out of the house. Francis grabbing his arm and forcing him up against the wall.

"No, you need to be supervised here on out. You put a knife to my face, and you choked one of the most important people in your life. You are clearly out of control."

The two oldest countries left the house. France keeping an extra tight hold on England's forearm as they walked to the frenchman's car. Leaving the North American brothers angry and confused inside the American's home.


	5. Chapter 5

November 24,

England has been trying ever since Halloween to reverse the spell. What seemed like amazing magic turned out to haunt him. Nothing worked. Nothing at all. But America had invited him over to decorate for thanksgiving. Arthur hadn't gotten out of his house for weeks. Dark circles hid under his eyes from lack of sleep.

"England?" Alfred opened the door and saw his British friend leaning against one of the pillars on the front porch. His eyes drooping.

"Goodmorning Alfred," England wakes himself up, "We ready to set everything up?"

"You don't have to help me, you know. I just thought you would want to get out of the house for a while. I know how you are when you think about my... Independence."

"No, I am an Englishman. I'm strong. Plus, I'm perfectly fine. There's nothing wrong."

America sighed and led England into his storage room starting to bring out old boxes. Inside were Native American and pilgrim clothes. Un loaded guns and toys laid around them as they began to inbox decorations and antiques.

England held up a rope in the storage room. Tan strands stuck out, itching his wrists as he wrapped it around his arm.

"What's this for?"

Alfred walked towards him from across the room, a fake stuffed turkey in his hand.

"Oh, you can throw that out. Looks like it's already been used before."

America walked back to the box he was working on, a pile of banners and streamers to his side.

Arthur moved the rope around his fingers. It was old but it was still strong. A sharp pain ached in the back of his head. He squeezed the rope and dropped to the floor. Bringing his hands to the back of his head and feeling warm tears fall off his eyelashes.

"America! It's happening again!"

Alfred was there in a split second. He picked up Arthur and took him to the bedroom. Locking him inside. He could hear England's painful screams and whimpers inside.

"I'm sorry! It's for your own good."

America sat outside the room, waiting for the screaming to stop. After a few minutes, silence fell in the house. England walked to the door, jiggling the handle.

"Al, do you not trust me?" He said in a sing-song voice, "After aaalll we've been together?"

"Shut up!"

"Oh, that's not very nice at all. Come on, let me out. I've done nothing wrong. I'm just a little moody." A high pitched laugh could be heard inside the room, "You invited me here. Might as well let me help."

Silence.

"England?"

More silence.

"Shit!" Alfred unlocked the door and ran inside. The window leading outside was wide open.

America quickly took out his cell phone and texted France, and Canada. His fingers jumble over the touch screen, his finger about to hit send.

"Well well, look at what we have here."

America turned around and saw the ginger looking back at him, the old rope in his hands. His bright blue eyes was wide in the sunlight.

"You've been a bad bad boy, Al. I tried so hard to make you so happy when you were younger, you know. But no mater what I did you still rejected me!" England yelled out but quickly took his temper back, "I love you, Al. I feel like a father when I'm around you. Since I'm a country I could never have kids. So, I took other nations for myself. And you, darling, you were the perfect country."

England slowly walked closer as he talked, America leaning back against the window sill.

"England, stop. You're not yourself right now."

"I raised you, I did my best for you, I struggled to keep you with me. But you and France had me. It's not fair!"

The possessed Englishman pushed America over the window, that he was already leaning over. Alfred fell two flights into the bushes below. His right arm was bent and broken. Slow heavy breaths rose his chest up and down. He was knocked out.

...

White blinding light shone in Alfred's eyes. He was being dragged across a stone floor. As he regained consciousness, he realized he was being dragged in England's basement back in London. His arm was badly bruised and swollen.

"E-England?"

England threw America into the dungeon, he still had the old rope with him. America laid on his back, struggling to pull himself up.

"I know you don't want to do this." America struggled to speak, "You're going to change back and you're going regret this."

England laughed, his eyes smiling wide underneath his orange strands of hair.

"I don't need you. But I've been wondering... Have you ever seen Sweeny Todd? I'm curious to see how you would taste like in a pie?"

America stumbled onto his knees, holding his mangled arm in his hand. A small stream of blood falling out of his mouth. His face pale and dehydrated. The glasses that once made him look strong and smart were now cracked and bent out of shape.

"England, I-"

America felt the rope crawling around his neck. Tightening and squeezing out the breath in his lungs. England stood over him, tying it tight in a noose. America was too weak to get out. Flinging small punches towards his British friend. England tied the rope over one of the candle sconces on the walls.

"England, please... Don't." America strained, "Iggy..."

Then the American stopped struggling. England stood back at what he had just done. America swinging lifelessly. His eyes closed, and his head crooked to the side. Arthur felt the heavy release out of his head. He had turned back. Arthur untied America quickly and laid him gently on the cold stone floor. Feeling colder than usual. The strong personification of America had fallen.

"Alfred?... ALFRED?!"

Arthur felt his heart sank at the corpse. It was all his fault. The noble British man clung onto his friend's shirt. Tears springing out of his eyes. Screaming and crying, Arthur beat his fists against Alfred's chest. America was dead. He wasn't coming back.

Hours past and the Englishman still hadn't left America. He laid next to the corpse, exhausted from sobbing. Suddenly, a line of steps filled the silence in the house.

"Angleterre? Have you seen where America went? Canada and I can't find him. Angleterre?" France called.

Another stabbing pain shot through Arthur's head.

"No."


	6. Chapter 6

-A short while earlier-

"Where's America?"

France walked into Canada's house. Canada was sitting in the parlor drinking hot chocolate with Kumajiro.

"He's supposed to be decorating for Thanksgiving with England. Is he not there?"

The two countries stared at eachother. Realizing England wasn't doing well, they knew something must've happened.

...

"Matthew, I'll go inside while you keep watch, ok?"

They were standing outside Arthur's home in London, England. France was going to walk in first since he was older and he felt the need to keep Canada out of danger.

Francis opened one of the windows in the back of the house and slid inside. The house was cold. A bad aura filled the home, giving France goosebumps. A sob could be heard from in the basement.

"Angleterre?"

-Present-

England knew that France had walked into the house. There's only one person that knows where he lives who has a ridiculous french accent.

Arthur steps away from America's fresh corpse, the pain growing in the back of his head. He locked himself inside the dungeon room. Throwing the key through the gap under the door. He didn't want to hurt France too. Tears were still spilling out of his eyes as he felt the wide grin cross his face. Now, his thoughts were filled of pain. He wanted to hurt Francis so bad. He wanted to kill. Finally take his revenge from centuries of fighting.

England picked at the lock on the door and crept up the stairs to meet his French lover. France was just about to open the door when the strawberry blonde Englishman jumped out into France's arms.

"Francis! I've missed you so much. I was trapped in this stupid house for nearly a month. Trying to reverse a spell that didn't do any harm to anyone. Hehe, well except Al."

France grabbed England by his hair and bent his head backwards.

"What did you do to America?!"

"Oh nothing, silly. He practically did it himself. One should not tempt me. And Al just was the best nation i controlled. It was disgusting how he just threw me under the bus like he did. But you. You have done even more than he ever has. Let me ask, how's Joan of Arc doing?"

England laughed and bit France's hand. France instead kicked the Englishman down the stairs, watching him flip and fall on each wooden step.

Francis walked slowly into the basement. England's chest was breathing raggedly, and a pool of blood spilled out of his mouth. France bent over his body, brushing orange hair out of his freckled face when his eyes jumped open and a hand clutched tightly on France's throat. A sharp needle pierced into the side of the Frenchman's neck. A clear and pungent liquid injecting into his bloodstream.

...

The blinding light blurred his vision. As he looked around the room he could see he was in England's dungeon. With England standing on the far side.

France blinked at the blinding spots in his vision and realized he was tied to a chair and was gagged. A small circular table sag in front of him with a pink tablecloth and an empty porcelain tea set.

"Good, you're awake."

England was still being possessed and the blood that was falling out of his mouth was now just a dry spot on the side of his lip. A small silver knife was being twirled in his hands.

"I'm glad you could make it to the party. I even made some red velvet cupcakes." England began to lift one to France's face, "Oh, that's right. You can't eat with that rag in your mouth. What a shame."

Francis struggled at the ropes tied around him.

"America struggled too." England said smiling gleefully, "You should've seen his face. His own father figure killing him slowly. I must say, ur would make an excellent documentary."

England stood behind France's chair and moved it to the left.

There France could see the pale corpse of the once great nation. Francis whimpered through the gag and tears dripped down his cheeks. England pulled the chair back to the table and saw the hatred burning up in France's eyes.

"No need to be so bitter. He wasn't doing that good recently as a country anyway."

More steps could be heard upstairs. Canada walked around the first floor calling to France. France tried to yell but choked on his gag.

"Oh, why is everyone bothering me today? I guess I'll have to make this quick."

England turned to the tied up Francis and kissed his cheek. Grabbing the back of the long wavy blonde hair, pulling the captive's head back.

"From now on my name will be Oliver Kirkland. Goodbye, my love."

The sharp blade in Oliver's hand cut through the front of France's neck. Blood squirting out into the white tea set. France flinching under the knife, his teeth digging into the gag. Until he stopped moving. But his blood continued to pour out.

England took one of the tea cups and brought it up to the blood falling. Filling his cup and bringing it to his lips.

Canada began to walk down the stairs. He walked to the doorframe and saw his dead father and brother.

"Mattie! Nice to see you, sweetie. But I must say I have to go now. Let's meet again soon."

England took a small handful of powder off one if the shelves in the room and threw it at his feet. A tornado of purple smoke and dust flew around him, and he was gone.

Canada felt his knees buckle under him. He ran to France's body first, untying him and carrying him upstairs. Then ran back down to get America. Poor Matthew began to hyperventilate and clutched hard onto America. As he began to climb up the stairs, he saw, written in blood, "Oliver", sketched into the table.


	7. Chapter 7

America and France were dead. But their countries still live on. Tough the two personifications were killed, the citizens can still control their governments. But it was when these two nations died that the people of their countries became rattled. Citizens would rob and kill and riots broke out of nowhere.

-December 20-

Canada and Prussia roamed the dark streets of London. All the countries had come together to try and find Oliver, England, before he killed anyone else. The cloudy night sky loomed over the nation's heads as they searched for their friend.

*Ring Ring*

Prussia jumped at the sound as Canada struggled to pull his phone out of his pocket.

"Hello?"

China answered, "Matthew, Germany and I found him. He was looming around the Paris Catacombs."

Canada shoved his phone back into his pocket, grabbed Prussia by the hand, and ran down to the nearest cab.

"Mattie, what happened? Who called?"

"China and Germany found England in the Paris Catacombs. We need to go to the airport now."

...

Canada, Germany, Prussia, Spain, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, China, Japan, Egypt, Australia, and many other countries stood in the building. They all came together and locked England up in an abandoned prison. He sat behind the cell walls, chained to a metal chair. His fingernails were caked with dried blood. Germany had deep scratch marks in his face that Italy was getting worried over.

"Good Afternoon, pretties! I've missed my tea time. Do any of you have anything else to drink? Germany was tasting rather lovely until that Chinese wanker got in my way."

Oliver stuck out his tongue at Yao and whipped some orange hair out of his face. And as if a crack of lightning, England began to turn normal again. His hair blonde, eyes green, but he now looked tired and distressed.

"Help! Please!"

Arthur began to sweat in his chair. He looked older and dead. He had been changing every few minutes. Like contractions, they just got worse until he turns into Oliver for good. Which nobody wants to happen.

"I've been trying to hide myself from everyone. I'm trying to get better! Trust meee!"

England snapped his head back and his form changed back into Oliver.

Canada took the keys to the cell and opened them. A gun in its holster around the Canadian's waist. He took a few steps before kneeling down in front of the once great British empire.

"Mattie, are you sad that your dear brother and father are gone? I'm sorry you missed our little tea party. I'll try not to forget you next time."

Oliver laughed and bent over coughing up blood and mucus. He started slowly humming the tune to "London Bridge is Falling Down", while Matthew took out the gun and pointed it to his father's head. england stopped smiling and his appearance changed back to the defeating Arthur.

"Arthur, I'm sorry. We've decided that this has to happen. You've gone too far. I'm so sorry!"

Canada drops the gun into his lap and sobs on Arthur. England uses his knee to lift Canada's face up towards him.

"Matthew, I understand. Look, I've lived a long life. I've done many bad things. But killing Alfred and Francis were the worst things I've ever done and I can't live with that. I tried to cure the spell but it just keeps getting worse. Please Canada, I don't want to hurt anyone else."

Spain walked up closer to the cell, "You don't have to do this, Matthew. One of us can do-"

"No! This is something I don't want anyone else doing."

Canada pointed the shaking gun back to England's head. Arthur gasping for air.

"Do it. Fast! I feel I'm changing again."

England scrunched up his tired face and his 2P look took its shape. Oliver began to laugh loudly at Canada's shaking hands.

"There's no point. I am Great Britain! I am Oliver Kirkland! Remember my name. Because no matter what you do, I will be back." Oliver smiled, blood dripping out of his mouth, "You should have seen their faces when they saw me killing them so tortuously."

"Shut up! Shut Up Shut Up SHUT UP!"

*Bang*

England slumped his head back on the chair. Blood from the bullet wound ran down his face. Dyeing his shirt Crimson. His green eyes rolled back into his head. The dark circles and freckles washed away. His corpse sat in the metal chair peacefully from the long hard suffering he had to sat on his hands and knees sobbing uncontrollably. He had nobody else in his family now.

The other UK brothers cursed under their breath, cried, and Scotland actually had to leave the room. They could hear him screaming outside.

It was the end of a Great Britain. At least, for now...

((THERE WILL BE A SEQUEL COMING SOON!))


End file.
